In the midst of distance,
the pinch blank stare
efficiently sunk deep
into the skin of the abyss
in my pocket full of dreams;
even if I painted my face
so slick no sorrow could
manage to cling, I have no
control over my heart that
beats wildly in exclusive pain,
as though each broken piece
has a life of its own.
In the midst of distance,
an absolute innocent expectation
taking form, vaguely wishing
for the time to turn back
before the void had been cut
open, spilling out my soul to be
left crumbled on the ground,
allowing a flood of emotions
to rush in as if being pulled
by some existing gravity unknown,
trapping in the cry of lost love.
In the midst of distance,
as the world revolves before
my very eyes taking away all
that is left to be salvaged,
with everything dissolving to
nothingness, even your shadow
cannot cast a comfort over me,
though you've tried your best
to cushion the fall but it was
the fall you pushed, thus
the pinch blank stare remains.
